Fire Meets Gasoline
by cocograce
Summary: Johnlock! fluff
1. Fire Meets Gasoline

I can barely breathe as I enter the flat. The place is a mess. Sherlock has thrown paper everywhere. I notice the newspapers littered down the hall. Their headlines beckon me like the trail to the witches cottage. I head down to Sherlock's room.

"Sherlock."

He doesn't answer, but I can hear him shuffling around behind his closed door.

"You right?"

No response. More shuffling.

"Sherlock. I will come in."

I emphasize the will. He knows I'm serious now. I hear the shuffling stop and then recommence as if he's considering his options. Mycroft, not twenty minutes ago had sent me a text.

_Sherlock. Go now._

It was hardly informative by any means, but it was enough to make me rush back to the flat, dropping my coffee on the way. Honestly though, one word would have been enough.

"Alright, I'm coming in now."

I placed my hand upon the cold brass handle ready to burst into the room. I took a deep breath at the thought of what I was about to face, but never pushed. Low and muffled sniffles and yelps sounded from behind the door. God, he's crying, is he? My face fell. If Sherlock was crying something was definitely wrong.

"Sherlock, I can hear you. Please." My voice hitched upon hearing the sounds grow louder.

"Please, let me in. Let me help."

"John, I'm fairly busy…" His words dissolved into sobbing. "…Right now."

My heart felt like literal fire itching to escape. The fire was using up all of my spare breath and made me feel like I was choking. God, if Sherlock is showing this much emotion, something must be catastrophic. On that last thought my stomach settled low and heavy as I imagined all that could have gone wrong. There was a lot and I'm not very creative on a good day.

"It's all going to be okay. Tell me what's wrong, okay. I can help."

"Oh God, John. I can't think!"

Instead of the expectant burst of anger I had expected and almost hoped for, I was only pursued by the sounds of more of Sherlock's misery.

"I can help." My voice trailed whisper soft towards the door.

I leaned my head against the cool wood, patiently waiting for his reply, like a therapist would. Well, at least how mine does.

"No. Not this time. I'm not who you think I am, John. You're so good and right, but not me, I'm a fraud."

"No, you're brilliant. No, I know you, you're no fraud, you're spectacular."

I felt the door bump beneath me; he must be leaning on the other side. I felt words well up in my throat like hot flames licking and burning my skin trying to escape. Their burn is familiar and constant. I only just manage to starve myself completely of oxygen to keep them in and safely stoked. It keeps us both safe.

"No, not that. It's you John."

His low voice rises from the ground. So he's sitting now. His spirit is so crushed he can't even stand. I feel the fire burn higher again, searing white heat onto my tongue, and gulp.

"What do you mean?"

"You see, I didn't know what this would feel like, I didn't expect it to feel painful." He drew a deep breath. "And, God, John I promise you it's painful."

Still braced against the door I ran my tongue over my lips. This confession is tearing at my constraints and I don't think I can hold on.

"John, it hurts and I can't think." The words flew softly through the door right to my heart.

Without thinking I opened my mouth and let the flames escape.

"Sherlock, I know it hurts. God, don't you think I know it! Every time you do something amazing, or anything really. How could you think I don't burn whenever I think about you, how it's not like that between us. We're friends at the most. That's it. How can't you see how that burns me to ash. It does! Yes, it hurts more than anything else, so yes, I know how painful it is!"

I closed my eyes and stepped back pinching the bridge of my nose. I had been careless and reckless and he's going to hate me.

I leaned against the hall as I heard a scramble of feet and the creek of Sherlock's door. My head faces my feet, I can't look up and I keep my eyes closed.

"John, look at me."

I can't move. A thin cold hand reaches beneath my chin and tilts my head up. I can barely breathe as I stare into Sherlock's swollen blue eyes. All I see is fire burning deep behind his irises. It hurts to hold his gaze.

"J-ohn." Tears roll from the corners of his face and splatter on his cheeks. "Did you say it hurts you too? It burns you?"

"Y-es. Of course it does."

Sherlock cups my face in his hands, my back stretches fully pressed against the wall. He's coming closer, I can feel the heat of his body as he catches my body in his.

Slowly he leans forward, lowering his head down. I close my eyes on instinct. A soft breath whispers in my ear just before a salty mouth presses against my own. His tears bleed with my own as I interlock my trembling fingers with his. It burns me still, though this time I'm not alone.

The words still drift through my mind.

"Burn with me tonight."


	2. Better than any drug

John took each step so slowly he barely registered ascending the staircase. He had a full day at the practice; the start of flu season was always busy, this year appeared particularly bad. The wave of patients had hit him harder than he expected and he now found himself in a lethargic state as any. The only coherent thoughts John formed as he entered the flat was that he needed a cup of tea as soon as possible and a good lie down. For this he selected the couch, he imagined the folds in the old leather smiling at him and inviting him to recoup his energy and relax. It was the best thought he'd had today, well almost.

Even though John's day had been hectic he couldn't help but hope Sherlock might spontaneously acquire his assistance for a case. He was usually ashamed when he daydreamed of quitting and spending all his time helping Sherlock solve crimes. Unfortunately it appeared that he couldn't stop.

John took off his coat and went to walk to the kettle when he heard Sherlock. Lazily John turned around to greet him.

"Want a cup of…"

John stopped. Sherlock was standing just outside the bathroom door wearing nothing but his blue dressing gown. It was hanging limp by his sides, fully exposing all of his alabaster skin. John stuttered.

"T-t-tea?"

Sherlock's head snapped sharply up and an expression of horror rippled across his perfect features. John averted his eyes to the ground and blushed like a school boy. He was suddenly awakened by the blood now pumping fast through his veins. Very fast indeed. John remarked to himself that he might worry that his patient had a heart condition if their pulse was beating this rapidly.

Sherlock had in the meantime wrapped his gown around him and was currently striding towards John. John just about panicked when he saw Sherlock coming in his peripherals.

"Sherlock, look it's alright. Um, you okay? Are you sick?"

John was still staring at the ground purposefully as he meandered towards the kettle. Before he was able to fill the pot a cold hand gripped his arm.

"Of course I'm not sick. Why would you think that?"

"Um, well, you see, I don't always see you walking around naked so I just assumed."

"Oh." The simple syllable seemed to break Sherlock's features into a mask of comprehension.

John looked into his eyes and admired the insight he knew was taking place in that brilliant brain. Shamefully John realised this was the first time he'd looked Sherlock in the eyes since he entered the flat. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that but he'd hoped for a miracle Sherlock didn't notice.

"John, I'm terribly sorry you caught me like that. I, well, forgot how late it was getting."

"Wait a second, do you always walk around naked?"

Sherlock edged closer to John. John felt as if he was prey being cornered by a hunter. The kitchen bench pressed firmly into his lower back.

"Yes. Usually you're not home though."

"Well, I think that was obvious enough."

Sherlock was standing so close to John he could smell the freshness of his toothpaste and count the drops of water that were flecked throughout his mess of ebony curls. He could even see the indentation of his slender physique through his thin gown. John was definitely feeling the rush of his blood now.

"Was it?" Sherlock's tone was nothing inquisitive, but rather like an undertone. Almost as if they were having two conversations simultaneously.

"um…" John mumbled and tried again. "mmm"

John couldn't say the words that suffocated him every night no matter how hard he tried. And John had tried, he even wrote it once but later threw the letter out.

"John, surely you know I study you. Do you?"

"I didn't," John swallowed. "Whatever for?"

"To learn, but don't be daft, you must have at least thought I noticed things about you."

John shrunk against the counter. This was the scenario he dreaded. He was also growing more uncomfortable at the closeness of his almost naked flat mate. Shyly he croaked out.

"What things did you notice?"

"I noticed how you look at me when you think I can't see."

Sherlock tilted John's head up towards his own staring deeply into his eyes.

"Um…"

"I noticed the way your pulse jumps when I touch you."

Upon this Sherlock took both John's hands in his and took his pulse.

"well, ahh…" John could only stammer at Sherlock's frankness.

"I also notice how you look at my lips when we are talking."

John quite stupidly looked at Sherlock's pink lips and followed the act by licking his own.

"Like you just did then."

"Look Sherlock, I'm sorry. Blimey, I'm sorry… I promise that I…"

John was cut off by Sherlock's soft mouth embracing his own and cold slender hands resting on his hips. John entwined his hands in Sherlock's damp hair as he was pulled closer to the man by his belt loops. Sherlock caressed John with his tongue, occasionally stopping to whisper other things he noticed about John.

As they broke apart John didn't care that Sherlock's gown was no longer covering him. He smiled at him as he hooked his thumbs inside John's jeans pulling him yet closer again. As they left the kitchen John couldn't help but repeat in his mind something Sherlock said in between kisses.

"I noticed that every time I see you I wonder how I ever thought I would be better off alone. You're better than any drug could ever be, Dr. Watson."


End file.
